Next to her stands Luciano, the baby of our little nuclear clique. Dark-haired and dark-eyed like the rest of us Canellis, he’s also inherited our father’s height and build, both useful in his masonry work.
Nico, Niki’s twin brother, completes the sibling quartet. His beard, which I swear should have its own zip code at this point, dominates his face. The man has more facial fur than every man at that lumberjack competition combined. He owns Last Call Lounge, right here in Leeds, which he inherited from our late Uncle Vito. Nico looks right at home in this tacky ballroom, probably because his bar features the same dubious interior design sensibilities.
My gaze travels past my siblings to the man standing slightly apart from them, and I grunt involuntarily. Uncle Jimmy Canelli, head of the Canelli crime family and my reluctant employer, surveys the room like a king inspecting his kingdom.
His gray hair is slicked back, his dark eyes look as if they miss nothing, and his fine Italian suit probably costs more than it did to rent this room out.
And even though he’s the scariest man I know, there’s something comforting about his presence, in the same way that knowing where the great white shark is in the water is comforting. At least you know which direction the danger is coming from.
“Effie! Niki!” Serafina calls out while waving us over. “Can you believe this place?”
“I’m trying not to,” I reply, giving her a quick hug. “The decor looks like a Vegas wedding chapel got woozy after eating too much spaghetti.”
“Nona Jo really outdid herself,” Luciano says while bending down to give Watson a quick scratch behind the ears. “What do you think she’s up to?”
“With Nona? Could be anything from announcing she’s joining a convent to revealing she’s been running an international spy ring.” I shrug. “Though the wedding bells are giving me a concerning vibe.”
The door to the ballroom opens again, and a hush falls over our little family.
Cooper walks in, looking criminally handsome in a dark suit that highlights his broad shoulders and the kind of body that makes women forget their names. His wavy brown hair is slightly tousled, and those marbled blue eyes scan the room with the precision of a detective trying to suss out a hitwoman—that would be me.
He’s flanked by his own family—and it’s a collection of Lazzaris that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Cooper’s parents lead the pack. Lavinia Lazzari, a woman whose cooking could be classified as a biohazard, clutches the arm of Santino “Scary Santino” Lazzari, whose nickname isn’t just for show. The scar that stretches across half his face gives him the perpetual look of a menace, like he’s two seconds away from making you an offer you had better not refuse.
Behind them are Cooper’s siblings, Bianca Lazzari-Ferrari, who could double as Courtney Cox’s stunt double, with her husband Lou. Rocco and Dante Lazzari, who inherited their father’s intimidating presence if not his facial accessories. And the star of the show—Loretta Semolina Lazzari, her red hair and freckles a burst of color next to the ancient form of Lorenzo “Enzo” Bianchi.
Loretta paws at the old man like he’s a scratch-off ticket about to reveal the jackpot, and Cooper looks about ready to commit a family-based homicide as he growls their way.
Just as the tension reaches levels typically reserved for international peace negotiations, the ballroom doors bang open with the force of a gunshot.
And just like that, both Aunt Cat and Carlotta make their entrance, and good grief, they’re dressed as if they’re expecting to be photographed for the cover ofMobster Wives Monthly.
Aunt Cat’s hot pink sequined dress catches the light from every bad angle, reflecting beams that could probably be seen on Sicily. Her beehive hairdo adds at least six inches to her height, and she’s accessorized with enough gold jewelry to sink a small yacht.
Carlotta, not to be outdone, has opted for a leopard print jumpsuit that clings to her curves as if it’s afraid of heights, paired with a pink feather boa that sheds with each step she takes, leaving a trail of plumage in her wake.
“We’re here,witches,” Carlotta shouts to the room at large. “The party can officially begin!”
“Or end, depending on how the next five minutes go,” I mutter to Niki.
In all fairness, she did just call both the Canellis and the Lazzariswitches. I’ve yet to see someone do some serious name-calling and live to tell the tale.
The doors open once more, and this time the hush that falls over the room is thick enough to cut with a switchblade. Luke Lazzari, the infamous enemy of the Canelli crime family and leader of the rival Lazzari outfit, strolls in like he owns the place—and honestly, for all I know, he just might.
His nearly bald head gleams under the tacky lighting, his gray eyes look cold as ice, and his pointed chin gives him the look of a predatory bird scanning for prey. He just so happens to be Cooper’s uncle, and it’s a fact that complicates my relationship with Cooper more than I care to admit.
Half the room goes quiet as just about every hand in here instinctively moves toward a concealed weapon. The Canelli-Lazzari feud has claimed more lives than I’ve had bad hair days, which is saying something.
“Eff”—Niki whispers— “I think Nona Jo might have finally lost her marbles. This is like hosting a peace summit between cats and dogs, except every last furry fiend is armed.”
I spot Nona Jo holding court near the makeshift stage at the front of the room and boot-scoot over to her with Watson trotting dutifully at my heels.
“Nona Jo”—I hiss— “what are you thinking throwing this shindig under the cover of darkness, anyway? Are you setting us up for a turf war or something?”
My grandmother, who happens to be dressed in a vintage 1960s black cocktail dress that’s seen better decades, with her hair styled in the exact same beehive she’s worn since the Kennedy administration, offers me a smile that could either mean “I love you” or “I’m about to make your life a living hell.” With Nona Jo, it’s usually both.
“Patience, Effie.” She pats my cheek with a hand adorned with rings on every finger. “All will be revealed.”
